Swim For the Wrekage
by GeniusInDisguise
Summary: A sad story from the poit of view of Joe Nagley after the death of his dear friend Will Warley. Has kind of a creepy ending. Tell em what you think...


"Swim for the wreckage, man! Swim, Will." I yelled as loudly as my remaining energy could muster. Yet, it seemed as though my voice was swept away with the wind the instant it left my throat. If only he could hear me. I was freezing, and soaked to the bone. But that didn't matter, we've fought the worst of gales before. What mattered was Will. He was out there in the water...in the storm.  
  
"Swim toward the wreckage, swim toward the wreckage, Will!" all the men were calling. I could barely see him out there, with every stroke he took; he was swept back by the monstrous waves. This went on for some tome. I was in a panicked daze I didn't realize what was happening until Lucky Jack thrust a hatchet into my hand.  
  
"Cut them," He said, "Or we'll sink." I watched him and a few others cutting away Will's life lines. Cut them? How could I cut them? If we sink, we would all die and I wouldn't have to live with Will drown. No, he can't drown! Can't die. But, I had my orders. 'Cut them.' My body went numb, I raised my hatchet and struck a rope. It split instantly. If only we could leave one rope for him. I raised the hatchet again. I seemed to be inhaling guilt, instead of air. I struck a second rope...the last rope. The wreckage sprung loose and was overtaken by waves. I stared Will in the face, he had given up trying to swim to safety. He was just bobbing there up and down like a dead man still breathing. Had he seen me cutting the way the ropes? If only I could explain to him, I had been given orders. I will never know if he would have forgiven me.  
  
The other men cheered. They weren't going to die. I hated them. I wrung the hatchet in my hands. What did I do, oh, Lord, forgive me. What did I just do? Will is out there...is he still alive? Is he thinking about me? If only I could reach him.  
  
I thought maybe there was a chance; maybe he could have made it to shore. He would be picked up and cared for by the natives and sent home on the next English ship. I knew it. Then, I realized how wrong I was. The wind whistled in my ears. Each raindrop stung me like knives. No. Oh, no. Anything but this, Lord. I knew I was a sinner, but did the Great Lord have to punish William Warley? Who was a good man. My best friend. I was no friend of his. No real friend would do this.  
  
I stared into Will's case. His precious few possessions. That was all that was left of him. And finally the tears came. Turning my eyes blood- shot red, and eating away at me. He was gone, really gone. Closing my eyes, I remembered how he had told me his wife was a God-sent angel. And how he would never want a sweetheart if only he could have her. What was she going to do when he didn't return? Why did it have to be this way? My shoulders shook, and I sobbed quietly over Will's case.  
  
My biggest fear, however, was not Will's wife. I had never even met the woman. It was that I dreamt every night about his face. Watching me send him away. No. This couldn't be my fault. I would never murder my best friend, I was just following orders. It was Hollom...it was Jonah. Maybe, maybe if he wasn't such a coward.  
  
Why is it this way? I would give anything to just trade him places. I have no wife and children. No one who would miss me if I were gone, except Will. I couldn't stop saying 'no, no, no' over and over in my head.  
  
I did agree with the others. Hollom was our Jonah. The mast didn't break until he climbed up it. Every time he was on watch, the enemy would appear. He took away our wind and we were all burning. I still was having dreams about Will. Dear, Will.  
  
After we finished our shift, I passed the bastard on my way for a drink. The others saluted him. But I couldn't, how could anyone pay respect for someone who was a burden, a curse, a Jonah. I hit shoulders with him, but did not pay my respects. I was too furious with him. Lucky Jack saw, Lucky Jack the real leader. He assigned me twelve lashings for my insubordination.  
  
I remember the humiliation of being shackled up, shirtless to the world. I did my best not to scream. I would never give Hollom that satisfaction. Each crack of the whip hurt worse and worse. I still didn't make a sound. Every strike of the hatchet had hurt worse, anyway. I was struck for the sixth time. My back burned and bled.  
  
CRACK! A seventh time. It was difficult to breathe. Crack! Eight. This was for Will. I'd take anything for him. Crack! Nine. My head lolled to one side, my skin was hot and tingling from the sun. The salty air burned my wounds. By the time it was over, I could barely support my own weight.  
  
The doctor bandaged me up, and eased the pain a bit. After that, I was sure to 'salute' Hollom every time we met.  
  
We gathered together, the morning after. Once again, the guilt replacing air in my lungs. Nobody seemed to cry for Hollom. Could I really have once again driven a man to his death? Did Hollom have a family? No one would choose suicide if there was a Mrs. to go home to. I was torn. I still hated him. Though, no man should be driven to such an end. And yet, he was our Jonah. And now he's gone and the wind is in our sails. If only I had understood him better.  
  
It is time to fight. My heart is pounding, my gun is ready. We wait in silence as the French ship approaches. Lucky Jack was a genius. Under his orders, disguised ourselves as whalers to confuse the French scum. It was the perfect trap. And I was ready to fight for Will.  
  
"Engleesh Valers! Zis ees your last varneeng! Stop now, or vee vill destroy you!" Lucky Jack held down our anticipation until the very last moment.  
  
"NOW!" He boomed. Cannons exploded, muskets were fired and there was complete confusion. I felt a sharp pain in my arm. A piece of flying wood had lodged itself right above my right elbow. I tore it out and threw it aside; I had more important things to worry about. Then came the orders to board the enemy ship. Now it was my chance to prove myself. Something told me, that if I could just do this right, maybe, just maybe, Will would be proud of me; even forgive me.  
  
We stopped on to the deck. There was a suspicious silence. The hairs on the back of my neck rose and I could tell Lucky Jack was way ahead of me. He stood, stooped and poised, gun at the ready. He was right, of course. At the same moment some of us were beginning to let our guard down, the French jumped to their feet. It was chaos.  
  
I shot an old man in the side, a boy came at with me with a sword, lodging my heel between his rips, I pulled the sword from him and thrust into his stomach. I killed countless others in the same brutal fashion, when I heard someone calling my name.  
  
"Joe! Joe!" I whirled around. It was my friend. He needed my gun. Without question, I threw it to him. I turned around, raised my sword and......  
  
The sharp searing pain faded into a dull warmth as though sinking into a hot bath after being out in the snow. I was perfectly relaxed; I wouldn't have been able to stay conscious if I wanted to. I fell back, and lay sprawled out, staring at the sky as it, and the rest of the world turned slowly to black.  
  
I did not want to be stirring. It had, for once, been such a good long sleep. And I hadn't dreamt about will. I stretched and closed my hand around a handful of sand. I was on a beach! I sat up so quickly it hurt my head, blinking in the bright, morning sunlight.  
  
"Good, you're awake." Came a cheerful, and comfortingly familiar voice. No. I was dreaming again. It wasn't real. I felt a warm, but calloused hand on my bare shoulder. "Are you hungry?" Slowly, slowly I turned to see who was addressing me. I was afraid that if I looked at him he would disappear. "Don't be scared, Joe, it's going to be alright." I willed myself to look him in the face. William Warley was smiling back at me. It had to be a dream.  
  
"But you're, you're......dead." I whispered slowly. He stood and brought me some strange fruit.  
  
"Eat." It was very good, and sweet. But I was afraid be become too happy. I knew this was all a dream and I would awake bandaged and bruised my hammock. "You're wrong." He said. And when I looked at him utterly confused, he continued. "You're not dreaming. I've been waiting for you for months, I'm glad to see you, yes, but I had hopped it would be a few more years before you came here." He was speaking in riddles, which wasn't like Will.  
  
"I don't understand, Will." I sighed, "you were supposed to be dead. I thought I had killed you." He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder. That was like Will. Always comforting.  
  
"You didn't kill me, Joe. But that doesn't mean I survived. The sea killed me...then brought me here. Where I have never been happier. Do you think this is Heaven, Joe? Maybe the Good Lord did think I was a good man, after all!" He grinned warmly at his surroundings.  
  
"If you are dead," I sputtered, still dazed from the shock of seeing him, and the brightness of the sun, "then I must be dreaming, or otherwise I would also have to be......." Will nodded solemnly. "But, I cant' be......" I checked my side where the bullet hat once been. There wasn't the slightest trace of a wound. Will stood me up and embraced me. Relief spread inside my body, from my fingers to my toes like warm liquor.  
  
"Welcome home," he whispered. 


End file.
